


Clarity

by DeltaRaeRunAway



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: AO3 1 Million, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1190253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeltaRaeRunAway/pseuds/DeltaRaeRunAway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Kiss me or I take matters into my own hands. Kiss me now and do it so damn good that my mind blurs. That’s what you owe me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eruption

“Perseus Jackson, you have two options. You can march your sorry self right over here and grovel on your knees for my mercy, or you can kiss everything away; your lips on mine. Do I make myself clear?”

*Gulp*

“I…uh…yeah. Just—ah—one question though...does this mean I’m off the hook, or…?” 

A fire lit in her eyes then, an absolutely positively singing fire stoked by anger and lust and expressed in tongues of grey irises. 

He needn’t have finished the question even if he were so bold as to vocalize an alternative. 

“Kiss me or I take matters into my own hands. Kiss me now and do it so damn good that my mind blurs. That’s what you owe me.”

*Pause. Heart catches in throat*

Gravel in her tone; cold, unrelenting steel in her eyes.

*Acid in her words*

“Do I make myself clear?”


	2. Should Have Stayed in Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everybody enjoys this--and yes, this is the previous chapter's scene with a backstory to boot. I plan to wait a bit and then upload a follow up chapter. Thanks for reading!! Prepare for some drama...

6 Hours Prior 

*Annabeth’s POV* 

“Perce?” Luckily, his name was one that I could still utter with a bobby pin between my teeth. 

I have to hand it to the girls I grew up around from the Aphrodite cabin, the ones I used to write off as flighty and self-obsessed, because this beauty stuff was hard. I’d never so much as put my hair into a French braid before I had people to impress, and now I was mastering the bun. Mind you, not a sloppy, sweatpants-and-movies-all-day-Saturday bun, but a tight, put-together, interview-ready, sleek bun. 

“Everything OK? It’s been, like…at least an hour. Are you mad?” His voice was so worried that I almost laughed, nearly swallowing the hair contraption on the verge of my lips and, in retrospect, had I done so maybe the night would’ve taken a turn for the better. After you get over the initial shock, I’m told, emergency rooms are quite cozy considering the circumstance.

“Um, yeah, I think so. Listen, can you please grab my purse and hang it up on the door handle so I don’t forget it? There’s something pretty important in there. And pull the dessert from the freezer? It must’ve set by now.”

“On it, Wise Girl, but just one thing…do you, maybe, want help or a second opinion or something? It’s just that—and I don’t mean to rush you, but-you’re taking an awful lot of time to get ready, that’s all.”

Calming breath, Annabeth, take a calming breath. “Having a little bit of hair trouble, but I’ll be downstairs in a jiff,” I explained, giving myself a final once over in the mirror. 

Frowning, I turned to the side, emulating every awards show red carpet stance I’d ever seen and put one hand on my hip. Shaking my head in disgust, partly because of my appearance and partly because I even cared, I slipped into some highly uncomfortable heels (‘death sentences’ as I affectionately call them) and, taking great and careful pains to walk slowly and hold the banister as I did so, made my descent.

“You look—wow, Ann, you look great.” I could see the steam coming out of his ears and it flattered me for an instant, before annoyance crept in. 

“It is five to seven!” I screeched, leaving Percy looking perplexed. Never mind that it was my fault, we had a schedule to be on top of, and here we were five minutes to dinner and fifteen away from the location!

I chastised him nonstop as we hastily left and locked the apartment up, hailed a taxicab, and buckled into our grimy seats. He took it, trooper that he was. Is. Was. 

Perhaps I heard a muttered “women” or a disparaging “girls” but I didn’t pay any attention to the sayings. That’s all they were. We were on the same page, I knew. My stubborn nature was something he took to heart, and fully understood even when I didn’t. 

Wait, does that mean I was the irrational one?

4 ½ Hours Prior 

*Percy’s POV* 

To set the scene: a long, gilded dining hall fit for a king. Or, to be precise, twelve kings. Well, some kings and some queens. All, though, and more aptly so, Gods. 

Platters of Olympian delicacies and pleasant chatter amongst individual groups. Seamless networking on Annabeth’s part. A blueprint laid out here and there, “for decoration,” she swore up and down. Yeah, right. 

But I didn’t say anything. I would never contradict her, especially in front of those whose opinions she valued more than, at the very least, mine. That is, to say, those of our parents, our immortal parents.

“Attention.” Aphrodite brought the various conversations to a sudden halt with the delicate clinking of her silverware against a glass filled with nectar straight from its source on Mt. Olympus. “There are many, ah, ulterior motives to this dinner soiree, if you will, and it has been called upon myself to introduce each side.” 

She turned to face me, and I instantly turned beet red regardless of having done nothing wrong or made any special prerequisites, and Annabeth. “Darling, it is clear that you have desires for a special shrine in your plans to rebuild. All things considered, it has been decided that it just won’t mesh with everything else, so that’s taken care of.”

“As for the next problem you will find upon yourself, you may not be so quickly resolved. It seems that there was offense to be taken at your audacious request, and a compromise has been proposed. Should you—oh, dear, I’m sorry,” her big eyes begged the nearest Goddess to take over, and this happened to be Athena, Annabeth’s mother.

Cold as Stygian metal and dead as a soul in Hades she said, “you are to surrender your commissioned architectural project here or to cut off ties with him.” Frostily, she pointed at me. Me?! How did I get thrust into this mess?

Still, she pressed on, having received no response but taking precautionary measures. “No complaining; I expect my nineteen year old budding innovator to have attained the art of holding tears in, as well. Myself, Poseidon, and Zeus all agreed on this. This is the fate you must suffer and you cannot go against it. Be thankful that there is a choice at all on your part.”

Stunned. Shocked. Baffled. Befuddled. Stricken. Incredulous. 

All words too big for me to comprehend until the situation in which they’d be handy as adjectives presented itself. Suddenly, every definition was crystal clear. 

My heart was racing; I just couldn’t afford to lose her again. What was that saying—speak now or forever hold your peace?

Ironically, I no longer had Gods to pray to. 

“With all due respect…” *ZAP*

OK, so Zeus wasn’t on board with my negotiating. But I had to do something quick, because Annabeth’s mouth was still flapping open and closed like a fish and her eyes had long since bugged out of their sockets. 

“Say one more thing, young ‘man’, if even a name fits, and I will blast the both of you straight out of my kingdom. Forever.”

A God or two looked shocked at this threat, but nobody dared to say anything.

Except, apparently, me. My stupid, doesn’t-think-before-he-speaks self.

“But she loves this job and, mainly, I love her.”

And that’s how we came to be excommunicated from a religion of following ancient Greek Gods. Or, you know, as we were trained at Camp Half-Blood to call them, Mom & Dad.

3 Hours Prior 

*Third Person POV* 

“How. Could. You.”  
“Why. Would. You. Do. That.”  
“We. Are. Ruined.” 

All on constant replay, straight from the beauteous caverns of Annabeth’s throat. Not a single one a question, but collectively a series of rhetorical statement. You couldn’t challenge those words any more than you could challenge an Olympian higher-up. You know, like a God, or a Goddess. Because allegedly, the consequences, relatives or not, are severe.

Basically, no amount of flowers out of arbitrary reasoning on any given day could make up for this catastrophe that the couple had found themselves in. 

As they left the dinner date from Hades, Percy tried to smooth things over. He really did, for someone so oblivious as he. Unfortunately, Annabeth was not having any of it. She refused to give him the time of day; not one word would she speak to him while she walked briskly ahead five paces or so, accelerating when he would try to catch up. She was livid. 

Percy suddenly became very aware of the dagger that she kept in her boot at all times, a handle threateningly spilling over and onto her jeans’ territory. 

He tried one last time, in vain, to at least voice his sorrows. She stopped abruptly, and Percy genuinely feared for his life. This was New York, so there had to be witnesses around, right? Right?

Though it’s not like anybody would press charges, he thought grimly. The Gods no longer wanted anything to do with him and his mom and Paul thought Annabeth was the greatest thing since blue food coloring. If she killed Percy, she’d probably get his room and board. He pondered this idly. Not technically a bad deal, and really, who could blame her?

But her vendetta wanted not physical violence but physical separation and she hailed a cab, still without uttering one syllable. Percy kind of sighed in relief, and moved to get in after she had sat down, but with one hand steadying his frame on the taxi’s exterior and one foot curbside Annabeth slammed the door shut and the vehicle skidded away. 

Yeah. She was mad. 

Oh, Gods. 

[‘Gods? Gods? What Gods? I have no Gods!’ thought Percy bitterly, as though dramatically channeling the poet inside of him.]

Oh, Gods. 

The way the car positively sped off reminded Percy of the women that used to shuttle he and Annabeth (and Grover, of course) to quest locations and back, all with the vision of one shared eyeball. Gross. He hoped she was safe, never mind homicidal. He could deal with her anger, likely even better than she could though she’d not admit it, but he couldn’t cope with losing her another time, and this time for good. The Gods wouldn’t be doing him any favor anytime soon; that was for certain.

With another sigh, he shoved his hands in his pockets, very conscious of how cold and chapped they were. He never bothered to carry gloves with him, save for the sharpest of winter nights, because he always traveled with Annabeth. And with Annabeth, her hands always traveled along, too. And when he had Annabeth’s hands at his disposal—if anyone did, for that matter—would it be sane to choose instead the temporary comfort of a glove when she radiated—radiates—human warmth?

Enough sidetracking: Percy was on a mission to make everything OK with his girlfriend. Still uneasy about the whole fiasco at the top of the Empire State Building, he headed for their shared apartment, praying to the one God who might still be on his side [Hestia] that Annabeth had yet to change the locks. 

1 ½ Hours Prior 

*Annabeth’s POV*

Who did he think he was? Sure, “Son of the Sea God” looks good on paper, but it holds no traction in real life. This, this was an instance of real life, and he needed to get out of his stupid dream world of prophecies come true and snap into reality, because when the worlds of real and imaginary clash, well, what just happened happens. And it’s not pretty for anybody involved.

I could just never talk to him again—give him a perpetual silent treatment—but what good would that do on an obtuse numbskull like Percy? Gods…I—I loved him, so much, but what was I supposed to do?

A knock. On the door. Three times.

Three: a number sacred in Greek mythology. Also three: the number of knocks Percy and Annabeth used to signal that one or the other was at the flips ide of a door or room. 

You have got to be kidding me, I thought.

And like the fool that I am, unable to resist temptation (a fatal flaw never cured by the Sirens’ Song years and years ago), I unlatched the door. And was face to face with Percy. 

My heart. It caught in my throat. 

“I—uh—well, I think—damn, this was supposed to go better—I have some explaining to do.”

His apology…why in HADES does it ignite something in me? 

And without my mind’s consent, my mouth opened on its own accord. And all of the aforementioned Hades broke loose.

“Perseus Jackson, you have two options. You can march your sorry self right over here and grovel on your knees for my mercy, or you can kiss everything away; your lips on mine. Do I make myself clear?”

*Gulp*

“I…uh…yeah. Just—ah—one question though...does this mean I’m off the hook, or…?”

A fire lit in her eyes then, an absolutely positively singing fire stoked by anger and lust and expressed in tongues of grey irises.

He needn’t have finished the question even if he were so bold as to vocalize an alternative.

“Kiss me or I take matters into my own hands. Kiss me now and do it so damn good that my mind blurs. That’s what you owe me.”

*Pause. Heart catches in throat*

Gravel in her tone; cold, unrelenting steel in her eyes.

*Acid in her words*

“Do I make myself clear?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. So, as a disclaimer, I'm not entirely sure where this came from but right now (late into the night, go figure) I'm getting a bunch of wild ideas as to where it could lead so please bear with or, even, make suggestions as to what you'd like to see evolve. Thanks for reading and happy 'this site has one million plus works' day!!


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